


Another Lie From The Frontlines

by armyofangels



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, get ready to go on this journey with me, i'm all about angst, it probably will, let's hope it gets emo, present stevebucky, stevebucky Au, writing this makes me wanna die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-04 16:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10282778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofangels/pseuds/armyofangels
Summary: Bucky is a broken soldier coming home to Brooklyn after being deployed. Somehow, he finds himself in a PTSD support group where he meets ex-Army Captain, Steve Rogers, who leads the group. Maybe Bucky will find the truth behind the lies he tells himself.





	1. Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> this is new for me. I'm not good at third person. enjoy!

“My baby is home!” Her arms enveloped his broad frame tightly, not wanting to ever let go again. He knew damn well that tears were welling in her eyes, he could feel the wetness on the collar of his thin green shirt. He pulled her away so he could give his father and sister quick hugs. 

“We missed you, James.” His father mumbles in his ear, patting his back. 

“My baby brother, all grown and handsome.” His sister held him close, kissing his cheek before pulling away, “I bet all the ladies and men overseas we’re dying to be around an exotic American.”

He wraps his arm around her neck playfully, “Yeah, more like dying for other reasons.” 

The way he said it left an awful taste in his mouth. He promised himself he would not talk about it with his family. Keeping it in his own mind hide the terrors that lie back where he stayed for 6 months away from his family. He got a month leave since he was slightly wounded at battle (pulled muscles in his back, shoulder, and leg. Plus, his Sergeant noticed some signs of crippling anxiety) and plus, he wanted to return for the birth of his nephew. 

“Let’s get out of here and get some dinner. Bet baby and mommy are hungry.” His mother rested her hands on her daughter’s stomach all the while she wiped tears streaming down her face.

“Yes! Bucky Jr.! Of course,” he perched down, “Hey little guy. I’m your Uncle. Pleasure meeting you.”

“His name isn’t going to be Bucky, I refuse!” His sister says, holding her striped stomach with her left hand. 

“Well, James then.” Bucky tried his best to smile, “Come on Madison!” 

But she wasn’t having it.

“No, we are naming him after his daddy.”

“Speaking of that chump, where is he?”

They all begin their trek to the SUV. Bucky’s father took his duffle, while Bucky carried his carry-on. 

“He had to work. The office is keeping him busy before he gets paternal leave.” Bucky’s mother says matter-of-factly. 

“You’ll see him tomorrow at dinner. We are having a welcome back celebration tomorrow, since it’s too late now.” Bucky’s father leaded the pack. They all walked through the airport, bustling with businessmen and travelers alike. They weave through the parking lot, finding the bright red car on the second floor of the parking deck. Madison remarked about how swollen her feet were once Bucky and his father unlocked the car and threw his bags in the trunk.

“Should’ve worn those shoes I gave you, Madi.” 

And a fight ensued. Bucky just smiled out the window, remembering how much he missed these sorts of fights over the ones he’s been fighting. He missed the thick New York accents and annoyed groans.

After a 30 minute drive, his father pulled off to a Denny’s right off the interstate. Bucky was starving, so a dead possum on the side of the road would satisfy his stomach growling. That’d probably beat the food he’s been eating over the past 6 months anyway.

“Get whatever you want, baby.” His mother said from beside him, pecking his temple once they sat down. Bucky mused.

“Welcome to Denny’s,” The blond southern-talking waitress said, “Can I get y’all something to drink?”

“I could really use a chocolate milkshake.” Bucky says, his bright smile causing the blond to shift a little. She nodded and proceeded to write it down, as well as his family’s drink orders.

“We are an hour from home, according to my GPS.” His father said, his glasses on the tip of his nose, his phone far from his face.

“Is that so? Think we can make it home in time for the Bachelor?”

“Really Mom?”

“I missed last week and my favorite girl was voted off!” 

Bucky chuckled, “Isn’t that the show with the guy and all those women battling for his dick?”

“James!” His mother swatted his shoulder, “Go into the Army and suddenly you’re a potty mouth like your father!”

He glances up to his dad, who is laughing behind the glow of his phone. Madison sits there with a funny smirk. Little did his mom know that he had a mouth on him since he was able to tottle. He kept it from her and censored himself. But being that he’s an adult and his mother needed to see that, he forgot completely about having a censor.

“I’m sorry, Ma. I meant that show where those beautiful, young, hot, wild, and demanding women expose themselves for a daringly handsome kissable m-”

“Okay, Buck, we get it.” Madison giggles as their mother rolls her eyes in annoyance, “Do your superiors know about? Ya know?”

His father flicks his eyes up towards him.

“I was going to tell them. But that orange peel won office and I decided I’d keep that side of my life away from work.” Bucky admits, sipping on the milkshake the blond brought him. 

“That’s a good idea. Trump is really shaking things up for you guys, isn’t he?” His mother asks, concerned.

“The guys I’m stationed with are great, but they all wanted him as President. Said he should pay us more and that they should ban gays and Muslims from being in the military. I just nod and act like I understand.” Bucky’s face drops, trying to move the conversation somewhere else. 

“So you’re stuck with homophobes and people who don’t believe in equality? Must suck.” His sister replied bitterly.

His sister was a liberal arts major in college and worked for a museum in Manhattan. She was a curator and very liberal in all her views. Bucky was raised like that so telling his family he was gay didn’t change their minds about him at all. They were the most accepting family in all of Brooklyn. Everyone knew that.

After stuffing their faces with burgers, chicken tenders, and mountains of french fries the talking about the simple things subsided. Luckily they don't get into the heavy things Bucky tries to avoid, they leave to head home. 

The townhouse they lived in was in North Brooklyn, down a short street called Cypress. Bucky and Madison were born and raised in the house, and their parents could never give it up. They wanted their grandchildren to grow up there. It was a brick structure with a small backyard and three floors. Bucky’s room was in the basement, right off where the computer and work out equipment resided. The walls were concrete and white, but he decorated with old posters of movies he loved and bands he enjoyed. Nowadays, he wasn’t sure what he liked anymore. 

The war had almost stripped his identity. Left him hardwired to remember the fear, but be completely numb to the concept. He was terrified daily, but he held it in and acted prideful for serving a country that does nothing but fuck him in the ass. And not in the way he wanted. 

The ride into the city caused a quietness within the car. Bucky missed this city and all it’s shiny lights. Growing up here, he took it for granted. But after spending over 3 years in a dark tent or tucked on a cot in the back of a humvee, he missed the twinkling lights that appeared at his windows. 

He kissed his mother and father goodnight. Madison said she would help him unpack. He knew she was just going to ask him questions, but talking to her wasn’t so bad. After his first deployment, he returned home and cried to her almost every night. If that wasn’t the case, it was the nightmares that sprang her from her sleep across the basement. She’d rush to his side and rock him back to sleep. She hated, absolutely hated, Bucky being in the military but it was the only option he had. That or die from the intense life he was living. His mother couldn’t watch her son slip from her grip, so signing him up for the frontlines was her last hope. So, Madison watched her brother slip in another way. Losing all sense of self and beliefs in human life. He was secretly hopeless, and only she knew that. 

Bucky held her arm as they walked down the stairs, her stomach causing her to waddle. She was 3 weeks away from her due date, and seeing her that pregnant made Bucky chuckle. 

“I would love to see you have 30 extra pounds strapped to your stomach 24/7, constantly making you pee, and making you vomit after every sweet you eat.” She jokes, pushing his shoulder as they walk into his freezing cold room. Just the way he loved it. 

“Wanna trade places?” Bucky laughed, tossing his bag on his bed. 

“I’d love to be a soldier who lies to his parents about how he truly feels.”

He groans, “Here we go.”

“Bucky, they need to know you need help. If this leave is anything like the last, or even worse, I don’t think I can sit around and watch you suffer.” Madison replies, unzipping his duffle.

“Madison, I can’t just… I can’t tell them everything. They will put me in counseling or some stupid fucking support group. I’m not gonna listen to other people’s problems, while I’m suffering myself.”

“That’s not how it works, Buck.” She tosses his t-shirts on his bed. He picks them up and puts them in the top drawer of his wooden dresser. Still covered in Spider-Man stickers and scratches from his childhood.

“It’s how it works, Madi.”

“You’re so fucking stubborn.”

“It’s how the Barnes family works. You should meet yourself sometime.” He mutters, shutting the drawer.

“Kiss my ass.”

“That’s Reggie’s job. Not mine.”

“Ya’ know what? No, we aren’t even going to argue about this. I care way to goddamn much for you. You are going to this,” She pulls a folded brochure out of her back pocket, placing it on the top of all the stickers.

PTSD: We Can Help  
Support group every weekday  
Monday-Friday 5PM-8PM  
Led by ex-Army Captain, Steve Rogers

Bucky frowns, “No.”

“M’ not gonna watch you slowly fade away, James. You deserve happiness. Every ounce of it. I’m sick of staying up at night thinking about where you are and what the hell you’re doing. Thinking about you suffering makes us all suffer, okay? Stop being a Barnes, go get some help. If you don’t, I’m telling Mom and Dad and they will not give you a choice.”

Bucky stares at the paper, “So you’re giving me a choice?”

“Yes, go or I’m telling Mom and Dad.”

“You’re such a little sister.”


	2. Jaws The Pup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ugh, support group

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bucky with a dog just gets to me.

The day went on without a hitch. Bucky just sat around alone while everyone was at work, took the family dog Jaws for a walk, and did laundry for the first time in who knows how long. He commonly wore stained green t-shirts that were recycled for one another every other week. He probably smelled like sweaty gym socks, but frankly he didn’t care. He couldn’t remember the last time he ever took pride in his appearance.

 

When Madison got home at 2, she started making the dinner she and her mom planned for Bucky’s “welcome home” meal. His favorite; chicken and dumplings sided with his mom’s homemade green bean casserole. 

 

Due to the fact that Bucky had that support group (he called it “hanging out with old friends” to his mom and dad), everyone was pressed for time. As soon as his mom got home at 3:30, they were rushing around to finish the preparations. Bucky’s father returned promptly at 4 and that’s when they all sat around the table of food. Reggie had walked in right after prayer, apologizing quickly as he kissed Madison and sat next to her. 

 

“Damn it, Reggie. Always late.” Bucky joked, picking up the spoon of green beans. Reggie chuckled, “Haven’t changed at all, Buck.”

 

“Yeah, I only got more handsome and got rock hard abs.” His laughter spilled out through the room, causing his family to laugh. The only time he felt somewhat happy, was like this. Surrounded by the people who always gave him a chance. 

 

Growing up, he was everyone’s protector, fending off school bullies, beating up kids who tried to fight his friends, but no one had done that for him. He was always thought to be everyone’s guardian angel. 

 

That was until the alcohol took over. 

 

He was 16 when he walked into school completely plastered after spending all night trying to numb the fact that the guy he liked called him a “faggot” and that if he ever tried to get near him, he’d “punch his fucking teeth in”. He didn’t even remember his own name when his teacher called roll. His homeroom teacher smelled it on him too, and called the principal at once. But that hour long detention and grounding from his parents didn’t stop him. By the time he turned 18, he was drinking every night, coping with whatever mental illness plagued him and the constant shit he got for being a “homo”. His friends took notice and started distancing themselves, which only made things worse. He would steal from his father’s beer fridge, from the corner liquor store, or pay some random homeless people to buy him the biggest bottle of cheap vodka. In return, he’d give them the change. He was a zombie most of the time, not even leaving his room some days. He lost his job at the sub shop on 7th Street and was banned from ever entering the place again. He lost all his friends. He lost just about everyone. But his family. 

 

One night, his mother sent him to buy her milk from that same corner market he stole from. He was a little tipsy, sneaking sips of his father’s Irish whiskey every moment he was alone. He walked to the store, tripping over his own feet. A small Asian woman across the road took notice to his stumbling and rushed to his side. 

 

“Sir, are you okay?” Her small voice asked.

 

“I’m great.”

 

“I think we should get you a taxi. You reek of alcohol.” 

 

“Get the fuck off me!” The look of horror in her eyes when he smacked her arms away from him, caused him to sober up a bit.

 

She was scared of him. He was becoming the same monster he tried to fend off from other people. The man who knew what he was doing was wrong, but continued to do so. 

 

“I want to help you.”

 

He stared down at her, trying to figure out what she meant. 

 

Help?

 

That was until he heard a familiar voice behind him. Instead of saying anything, he turned to see his mother eyes welling with tears. She held out a $10 bill, her hand shaking.

 

“You forgot the money.” She said quietly. That’s the first time she cried for him. She saw he was scraping the surface of rock bottom. She couldn’t watch him like that anymore. That very next morning, they met with an Army recruiter. 

 

“So who are you meeting up with tonight, James?” his mother asked from across the table with a tight smile. The kind of smile that suspected something was up.

 

“Just some buddies from high school. Messaged me on Facebook and we are going to play some basketball at Memorial.”

 

“No drinking?” 

 

“No, ma. No drinking.”

 

Her smile softened and the conversation went on about their work days. Jaws sat beside Bucky, so Bucky slyly fed him some pieces of chicken. He smiled under the table, calling him a good boy and patting his head.

 

After dinner, Bucky and Reggie joked back and forth about how awful the Yankees were doing and admiring the Giants for pulling through with a good season. Both of them bonded over sports, which Bucky wasn’t a huge fan of, but he knew it was a good conversation starter with most New Yorkers. It’s funny, you’d think being from Brooklyn, he’d be obsessed with everything sports, theater, and arts. But he was the exact opposite. He admired them, sure, but he’d never get involved in such things. He was never good at sports and he sure wasn’t signing up for plays or musicals. 

 

“Are you going to walk to Memorial or do you want to borrow the car?” His father asked, helping the women clean off the table.

 

“Can I borrow the old truck? I don’t want to walk home in the dark. May be out for a little, catching up.”

 

“Yeah, that’s fine. Keys are hanging by the door.” His father muttered, smiling down at him.

 

“Hanging out with a few buds?” Reggie asked, handing his plate to Madison with a goofy grin.

 

“Yeah. Just hanging out.”

 

He tried to make it sound believable but he wasn’t the best liar. Madison stared at him, completely dumbfounded. She rolled her eyes, continue to patter into the kitchen.

 

“When are you heading out?” His mom yelled from the kitchen over the loudness of the plates and forks clashing together in the sink.

 

Bucky checked his phone, “Probably now.”

 

“So soon?!” 

 

“Sorry Ma.” He trailed behind Jaws to enter the kitchen where his family stood, trying to clean up, “I’ll be back. Don’t worry. ‘M not leaving for another 6 months.”

 

He pulled his mom towards him and pecked her temple, “Later guys.”

 

\-------

 

The rumble of the truck caused most of New York to stare at Bucky with curious eyes. The traffic this way wasn’t as bad as Manhattan, but it was pretty fucking annoying. He was going to be late for this meeting bullshit. He couldn’t count how many times he slammed on his horn to make the minivans in front of him move when the light turned green.

 

He pulled up to an old brick Catholic church. He remembered driving by it on his way to school some days, but never really took notice to the structure itself. It was broken down, some windows cracked, the front panel doors deteriorating with time. 

 

He parked right outside the front doors, huffing at the fact that he was actually doing this. Madison just had to guilt trip him.

 

Walking in was awkward to say the least. There was a bulletin board that outlined church activities for the week and old business cards for local shops and stores. In the room to the right of him was a crowd of men and women staring back at him. In the front of them was a tall, broad man. You could tell he was in the military. Maybe it was the short hair, or the fact that he wore tight shirts and camo pants. Or maybe the “Army” cap he wore on his head. 

 

Eyes burned into him, before the man spoke up. “Support Group?”

 

“Uh, yeah, how did you know?”

 

“You’re wearing a military grade shirt and you have dog tags on. Just a wild guess.” The man’s voice was playful, unlike what Bucky expected, “I’m Steve Rogers. Find a seat.”

 

The room was small, only about 15 people could fit. Luckily, there wasn’t as many hopeless son of a bitches as Bucky thought, so finding a seat wasn’t hard. They were seated in a circle, all facing each other. But Steve stood, talking about what the topic of today was going to be. 

 

“Adjusting to home life when no one understands what you had gone through.”

 

Well this topic was going to be easy to talk about. Bucky had a list in his mind just from driving here about how many things he used to take for granted and reflected on how everyone around him must be doing the same. No one understood how wonderful it truly is to just walk to the park with their dogs, or go running around the block without any fears of being shot at. America had it good and nobody realized it until it was swiped away from them.

 

“But first,” Steve’s ringing voice caused Bucky to jump, “We are going to go around and tell each other our names and where we are from and how we got here.”

 

Everyone agreed in silence.

 

“I’ll start,” Steve began, “I’m Steve Rogers. I’m from Brooklyn originally, but once I joined the military I moved everywhere. I moved back after I was allowed permanent leave early after a leg injury in Iraq two years ago on my 5th tour. Wanted to be home again.”

 

Bucky stared at Steve’s legs, wondering what kind of leg injury could allow him to have permanent leave. 

 

They continued around the circle.

 

“I’m Amanda Byers. I’m from Rochester, NY. My husband and I moved here to Brooklyn a year ago after his last tour in Afghanistan. I’m currently in the reserves.”

 

“I’m Marcus Cuff. I’m from Chicago. Moved here for a girl and never really left. Served 10 years in the Navy.”

 

And then Bucky’s turn.

 

“I uh…” He stopped to look at everyone, “I’m James Barnes. Friends call me Bucky. From Brooklyn. I’m on a month long leave right now for… uh, reasons. Got a shoulder injury and they gave me a month to recover.”

 

Bucky’s eyes trailed around the crowd. Before the woman next to him could go, Steve spoke up. “What branch you in, Barnes?”

 

The way he said his last name made his mouth go dry. He just realized how bright blue Steve’s eyes were and how his lips were not a regular shade of pink. 

 

“A-army.”

 

Steve nodded and smiled. The group proceeded to go around and talk about themselves. Bucky sat quietly for most of the meeting, after that point. He would occasionally catch someone’s eye and smile, other times he actually found himself relating to something someone would say. Eventually they got on the subject of why they even went into the military. It’s not that this group of people didn’t seem accepting, but Bucky wanted to forget what he’d gone through just to be sitting here in the first place.

 

“I was 13 when my mom and dad passed,” Steve says, his mouth forming a straight line. Bucky trained his eyes on him, “I was stuck in foster care until I was 18. I had no direction, but I knew I was smart. I got good grades. My school counselor suggested the military and at that point, I knew it was the only way I could escape my situation. I didn’t go to serve this country, I just needed a home. Somewhere I belonged.”

 

Bucky understood about going into the service to escape his situation. But he had a family. He took that all for granted. Sitting there, realizing that some of these people didn’t have accepting and loving families, Bucky felt some sort of guilt. He was lost in thought and didn’t even realize everyone was staring at him.

 

“What?”

 

“I asked if you wanted to speak to anything. You are the only one who hasn’t said much this meeting.” Steve says with a gentle smile. Bucky nodded.

 

“Yeah, uh, I went into the service to escape some stuff, like you.” Bucky mumbles, trying to steady his voice, “But I feel awful. Because all of you guys had genuine struggles. Mine seem so insignificant. I have a loving family. A home. A great education. My problems were so selfish and fear-driven.”

 

“Fear and selfishness can lead you down dark paths. We are all struggling, no matter how big and small the problem may seem, they are still issues that plague you. Don’t feel like your problems were lesser than ours, because at the time they were pushing you towards a dark direction. And due to that, you took a path you didn’t really consider before.” Steve explains simply. It’s almost as if he had known exactly what Bucky needed to hear, putting his mind at ease.

 

After the conversation slowed down, Steve called the meeting at about 7:45. Some people stayed around to mingle and talk, but Bucky didn’t really know if he should. He didn’t want to make connections, he just wasn’t feeling up to it tonight. As he turned towards the double doors, Steve shouted after him.

 

“Bucky!” 

 

He turns on his heels, to meet the tall framed man with a tight white shirt on underneath a blue bomber jacket he must’ve just put on. You could tell the white shirt was 2 sizes too small, but damn did it look amazing on him. He was daringly handsome, and Bucky couldn’t help but check him out inconspicuously. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks for coming tonight. I can see that it’s weird for you. It’ll get easier as each meeting goes on.” He just smiles again. Damn that smile, and damn him for continuing to do it in Bucky’s direction.

 

“Yeah, thanks.”

 

“I’ll walk you out.”

 

Bucky took a mental note. 

 

They poured out onto the somewhat busy street. The air had gotten a tad bit chillier, but not anything too cold. Steve remarked how he loved the warmer weather as he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. Bucky said that he preferred the cold. It was all small talk, the kind of talk Bucky hated. 

 

“Why aren’t you sticking around to talk to anyone, if you don’t mind me asking?” Steve spoke up as Bucky jerked his car door open, “Got a girlfriend to get back to?”

 

Bucky chuckled, his smile making Steve’s heart pick up. “No. Not quite. No girls for me.”

 

“Are you gay or something?” 

 

The question that Bucky hated answering. The sort of question he had avoided at all costs on base and around his fellow commandos. 

 

If he said yes, Steve could completely blow it off. Or if he said no, he’d have to hide his crush and glances towards Steve more better. The battle subsided, Bucky knew he probably wouldn’t care, his eyes were to kind for judgment. At least- he thought so. 

 

“Yeah. Actually I am.”

 

Steve’s smile drifted, “So that’s why you can’t stop looking at my lips when I talk to you?”

 

“Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I have a crush on every guy, Buddy.” Bucky responded sort of harshly. Steve cringed, not realizing what kind of nerve he’d hit. 

 

“That kind of sucks cause I was hoping you’d ask me out for a beer or something.” Steve snapped back, trying to sound confident. On the inside, he was screaming. 

 

Bucky smirked, “I don’t drink. Not anymore anyway. So, it’d have to be coffee.” 

 

“Luckily for you, I like coffee better anyway.”


End file.
